The end of then end.
Bitter, confused, far away, and alive.
In the quite moments, where the tsunami brews, a child is crying for love.
Weary eyes stare blankly at photographs, as our weakened hearts yearn for their last breathe.
Soon, those parts of our anemic journey will waver our fragile souls no more, and we will remember our real paths, as they lay in the eternal abyss of universal matter.
God help you.
